


touch me (tenderly)

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29722521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “I could do this all day,” he muttered between kisses to his jaw, and Jaskier let out a noise like he’d been punched in the gut because what the fuck? How dare Geralt suddenly have a way with wordsnow.Geralt pulled back, eyes dark and full of an emotion Jaskier was a little too scared to examine closer because it’d only been one night and his heart could only take so much.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 328





	touch me (tenderly)

**Author's Note:**

> im so bad w smut but this was requested (basically geralt being a soft tender lover) and i hope i did it justice <3
> 
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier had noticed something was off about his dear friend a few days earlier. It wasn’t obvious or anything like that. Any stranger wouldn’t have noticed, surely, but Jaskier was hardly a _stranger_. He had been by Geralt’s side for over a decade, after all. By now he could read the tiniest twitches of Geralt’s mouth, the flicker of his eyes.

He was _nervous_.

Sitting by the fire, he couldn’t miss the way Geralt kept glancing his way, only looking for a split-second before looking away again. Jaskier didn’t say anything at the time, strumming lazily at his lute. As he had learned more about Geralt over the years, he had also matured. He knew, now, that pushing for information out of the other man was pointless and usually just resulted in a meaningless fight.

If he wanted to say something, he would once he decided he was ready.

That night wasn’t the night. While Geralt kept looking at him, he didn’t say a word. The next few days were mostly the same; they talked like usual during the day (Geralt was generally far more talkative, now, than when they had first met) and then ended the night around a fire with some animal roasting over it.

Jaskier didn’t forget he was waiting, even if he didn’t know for what, but he still didn’t push.

Finally, after a week of waiting, when they reached a town and rented a room for the night did Jaskier finally discover what had been weighing on Geralt’s mind. After supper, and after performing for a bit, Jaskier returned to the room to find Geralt on the bed.

That wasn’t odd, or unusual. They had grown accustomed to sharing a single bed.

What was odd was the _way_ Geralt was sitting. He was stiff as a rock, hands in fists on his thighs. Jaskier didn’t have to try and figure out what he was feeling for once; it was written clearly across his face.

“Did I do something?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. He tried to think back but he couldn’t remember anything from the last few days that would’ve gotten under Geralt’s skin. He’d been fairly quiet.

Instead of a proper answer, Geralt just said, “Come here.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he gently set his lute aside and approached the bed. “Sit.”

“You’re scaring me here, Geralt,” he said, though he didn’t mean a word of it. Geralt couldn’t scare him if he _tried_. Jaskier knew him to his core. Geralt was a good man. Even when he should’ve been cruel, he wasn’t. There were a few times he’d tried to push him away, sure, but Jaskier knew - now - that he was only trying to protect him. Perhaps, he thought, it was _because_ of that - because of Geralt’s innate goodness - that he loved him.

Before Geralt, he had seen the cruelest parts of the world. Of humanity. Traveling on his own at eighteen had made certain of it. Now he knew there were good parts too.

Geralt hmmed, not quite looking at him, staring at one of the buttons of his doublet with a sharp gaze.

“I was joking,” Jaskier continued, “but now I’m actually a little nervous.”

Finally Geralt lifted his gaze, peering at him with such intensity Jaskier barely resisted the urge to look away. “I have something to tell you,” he said, which did little to ease his nerves. What could Geralt possibly have to tell him, looking like that? Was he _dying?_

“You better not be dying,” he blurted.

Geralt blinked once before he snorted loudly. Jaskier relaxed a bit when some of the tension seemed to ease out of Geralt’s shoulders. “I’m not dying,” he said dryly, though his eyes were bright with amusement.

“Good,” he replied. He didn’t dare say the rest of what he was thinking - that he wouldn’t know how to go on without him.

With the smallest smile, Geralt sighed. For a moment he was silent, and so was Jaskier, watching him closely, looking for any clues, but he couldn’t guess. He had nothing. “I don’t expect anything in telling you this,” he said finally.

Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek, if only to keep himself from interrupting.

“But,” Geralt glanced at him briefly, “I think you should know.” He paused. “I want you to know.”

Jaskier’s heart was pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. He barely even realized he was holding his breath. Geralt nodded, once, before he sat a little straighter, staring at him with the same intensity he wore before a particularly challenging battle.

“I love you, Jaskier.”

He was pretty sure he misheard him at first, but one look at Geralt confirmed he hadn’t. There was no other reason for the pain in his eyes. Because that was the thing about Geralt, he always expected the worst, which meant he expected Jaskier to turn him down or, even worse, laugh at him or leave. Jaskier laughed, sudden and high.

Only once his laughter started to subside did he notice Geralt had grown stiff again, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth were probably begging for relief.

“I don’t want- ” Geralt began, but Jaskier was quicker; grabbing one of his hands, his mouth snapped shut.

Jaskier grinned. “Over a decade,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for over a decade to hear those words.”

“Oh.” Geralt blinked, wide-eyed looking wholly out of his element. Jaskier wanted to keep him from the rest of the world, selfishly.

There was so much Jaskier wanted to say and do, finally given the chance, but he supposed there was no rush. Instead of doing any of it, they stripped off the bulk of their clothes, throwing them carefully to the floor, and curled up around each other, falling asleep quickly. Jaskier couldn’t complain; he easily had the best sleep of his life.

*

Jaskier opened his eyes with a soft sigh. Rolling over, he startled at the sight of Geralt, eyes open and watching him with a small quirk of his mouth. “Well, hello,” he greeted. He had had many dreams that started just like this. So many, even, that he discreetly pinched himself just to be sure.

“Hello,” he replied quietly.

Jaskier only realized their shared predicament when he moved closer, cheeks flaming when he felt the press of Geralt’s erection against his hip. It was odd, to have had so many others and yet still feel the familiar heat of embarrassment in the pit of his stomach, like he was a virgin on their wedding night.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, because frankly it was true. He had seen Geralt with others, a few prostitutes over the decade, and even Yennefer that one time, he didn’t doubt he enjoyed sex and was a fantastic lover, if a little lacking in the gentleness Jaskier was used to, especially being with mostly women (out of convenience, nothing more), but Jaskier had never wanted him _just_ for that.

He needed Geralt to know that. To know he would want him with or without the promise of sex.

Geralt surprised him with a small smile. “Did you not wonder why I waited so long?” he asked. Jaskier didn’t quite understand the question but then he was continuing, shifting closer, “I wanted to wait until there was a proper bed.”

It was surprisingly blunt, for Geralt. Jaskier ignored the heat in his cheeks and cleared his throat.

“Been thinking about this for a while, hmm?” he asked, teased, hoping he could get some leverage back. But Geralt continued to surprise him by not showing the least bit of embarrassment or shame; with the same small smile, he gently shoved the blanket away and moved to hover over him. His hair fell loosely, like waterfalls of white.

Jaskier expected - well, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Rough, quick sex, maybe, especially given the time of day. Good, surely, but lacking in the tenderness and care Jaskier usually liked to give to his own partners. Looking back, he knew he never could’ve predicted what actually happened as Geralt leaned down and nosed at his jaw. Jaskier blinked, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

“The last few times,” Geralt whispered, barely audible, “I only thought of you.”

Jaskier blinked again, staring owlishly up at the ceiling. The last few times—they had actually been together, at the same brothel, and he had never even considered the possibility of something like this. He had been an idiot.

“And what did you think about?” he asked, because he had somewhat of a reputation to keep. He wasn’t going to turn to mush just because he was sleeping with Geralt, even if his brain was struggling to find words as Geralt buried his face in his neck and pressed feathery kisses to the sensitive skin. His hands were gentle, lightly brushing up and down his sides.

It was all _wrong_ , already, not at all what he thought sex with Geralt would be like, but somehow so _right_.

He felt Geralt grin - not a smile, a full flash of teeth against skin - as he squeezed his sides. “Why don’t I show you?” he muttered, and Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat.

When was the last time he had been _nervous_ during sex? “Please do,” he answered, heart pounding.

Jaskier expected him to grab him by the hips, flip him over, maybe, but instead Geralt pressed another kiss to his neck before starting to slide down. His lips dragged over his skin, slow and light, barely a tease. Jaskier didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Geralt hummed, stopping to peer up at him.

“Are you okay?”

Jaskier blinked owlishly at him; of all the ways he imagined his favorite witcher, no matter the fantasy, he never imagined this—looking _down_ at him. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded and thankfully Geralt didn’t doubt him. Seemingly pleased, he returned to his work as he leaned down to press a kiss to the middle of Jaskier’s chest, a thumb swiping over one of his nipples.

A soft noise of pleasure. Jaskier realized belatedly that the sound hadn’t been produced by _him_.

_Geralt_ had made it, as if he was the _one_ being nearly worshiped. He continued to kiss down his chest to his stomach, hands splayed across his sides, big and strong but so far from a threat. Jaskier’s throat suddenly felt tight.

He tried to remember how Geralt had acted, when he had briefly seen him with others, but he supposed he had never really seen this part. With Yennefer, or the prostitutes, he always interrupted in the middle, never witnessing the start. Maybe he had been wrong all this time. Maybe Geralt was far gentler than he gave him credit for.

If this was any indication of his lovemaking, surely he had been wrong.

Or maybe, Jaskier thought with a warmth in his chest, maybe this wasn’t how he always use. Maybe this was special. For him. Jaskier watched, hands uselessly on Geralt’s shoulders, as the man slowly kissed back up his chest to press a final kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When he pulled back, there was a small crease between his eyebrows. Concern.

“Jaskier,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

He wondered idly why he would ask before realizing, cheeks flaming, that his eyes were overflowing.

“No, I—” he began, but Geralt was already rolling off him and it was a _tragedy_ , is what it was, but then Geralt was tugging him to his chest, arm wrapping around him, and it was awkward, both of them still hard, even now, but Jaskier had never felt happier and he supposed that was the power of love, huh?

Geralt’s hand was gentle and slow in his hair, as if he was in no rush, as if he didn’t mind the interruption at all. Jaskier considered pinching himself again, just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“We don’t have to do this,” Geralt said, voice low and gruff but still gentle, still soothing to Jaskier’s core.

Jaskier pulled back, eyes hard, “Don’t you dare,” he replied firmly. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Geralt snorted. “Just—” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to find the words. “I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?” he countered, the little crease still between his eyebrows. Jaskier had always wanted to thumb it away, and now he could; reaching up, he gently rubbed it away and Geralt snorted again.

He smiled a bit. “I’m usually the one doing the taking care of,” he admitted.

Geralt hmmed thoughtfully. “Do you prefer it that way, then?” he asked with such sincerity that Jaskier was hit a new burst of love for the man.

“No,” he replied honestly. “I mean, yes, but not always.”

Geralt’s smile was the most beautiful in the world to Jaskier. Nothing could ever compare. “Okay, then,” he said with finality. Twisting around, he pulled his bag up from the ground and pulled something from it. Jaskier only saw it was a vial of oil when he set it on the bedside table, pointedly within easy reach. His bag fell back to the floor with a thump before he turned back to Jaskier. “Let me care of you this morning.”

Jaskier had never struggled with words as much as he did looking into Geralt’s eyes at that moment, bright and sincere. “Um. Okay,” he agreed.

“You can return the favor later,” he added with a smirk that was far more familiar. Jaskier let out a huff of laughter as Geralt returned to his previous spot, hands already working to get rid of Jaskier’s underclothes, the only barrier left between them and pure skin.

*

Jaskier felt like he was going to lose his mind, literally. At this point he couldn’t tell if Geralt was doing this for his enjoyment or his own; he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single spot of skin Geralt hadn’t kissed yet, or a spot his hands hadn’t explored thoroughly as if Jaskier wasn’t leaking and wanting and _barely_ holding on.

“ _Now_ ,” he pleaded, tugging on Geralt’s hair, “or I _can’t_ , Geralt. I seriously—”

Finally, as if taking pity on him, Geralt slid up the length of his body with that smile, lips slick from where he’d had his mouth on Jaskier for frankly _too long_.

“I could do this all day,” he muttered between kisses to his jaw, and Jaskier let out a noise like he’d been punched in the gut because what the _fuck?_ How dare Geralt suddenly have a way with words _now_.

Geralt pulled back, eyes dark and full of an emotion Jaskier was a little too scared to examine closer because it’d only been one night and his heart could only take so much.

“But I suppose we have all the time in the world,” he continued lowly, and Jaskier just stared helplessly because seriously, in all his fantasies, he had never considered Geralt might be like _this_ in bed. Attentive and sweet. Even _flirty_.

Jaskier watched as Geralt reached for the oil, skin stretching tight over endless muscles. Geralt was sweet and lovely while simultaneously being the hottest person Jaskier had ever seen. He had obviously done something right in his past life.

“Have you done this a lot?”

Jaskier blinked. Geralt was peering down at him curiously. “Oh. You mean.” He let out a little laugh. “Yes. Just not—well, as much as with women.”

“And the last time?” he asked. There was no jealously, or judgment. Jaskier realized he was probably asking out of concern. His heart swelled.

He reached up, letting his hands rest on Geralt’s waist, just wanting to feel him, be connected in every way possible. “A couple years,” he admitted. Again out of necessity, not a lack of desire, but he didn’t bother with all that. None of them would’ve compared to this, anyway. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes a bit, that crease between his eyebrows making a reappearance. “I am,” he said stubbornly, and Jaskier was pretty sure he would never know a greater love.

Before he knew it, Geralt was kissing him again and all he could think about was the warm slide of his tongue, the feeling of their chests pressed together. Until, of course, he heard the pop of the vial and felt a familiar pressure at his entrance. Even one of Geralt’s fingers was nearly blinding, especially as worked up as he was, but he wasn’t going to lose his chance, even if he would have more. He needed this, now, had waited long enough.

Pulling back, Geralt kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his chin, slowly pressing in a second finger. Jaskier made a soft noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back. It hadn’t been _intended_ as an invitation, but he was hardly complaining when Geralt’s lips found his neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes squeezed shut, hands uselessly splayed across Geralt’s back. He knew he was being the worst bed partner, then, taking without giving, but Geralt _had_ said to let him take care of him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so—

_Spoiled_.

Geralt pressed a kiss under his ear and then there was the sound of more oil being poured over his fingers. “I never thought,” whispered quietly as he added another finger; what should’ve burned was barely a stretch, with how slow and thorough Geralt was being, like Jaskier would break at any moment, “I could have this.”

If he meant Jaskier specifically, or just this in general, he wasn’t sure, but he liked to think he knew.

“Always have—” Jaskier was cut off by his own voice, betraying him with a whimper. He swallowed thickly, could feel Geralt smiling against the skin of his shoulder. “Always have been a pessimist,” he finished shakily.

Geralt let out a quiet huff of laughter and gently pulled his fingers out, “Couldn’t be the optimist; that’s your thing.”

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed, not daring to open his eyes, simply listening and feeling as Geralt shifted around, pouring more oil, the vial being tossed aside, then finally - wonderfully - the press of him against his entrance, just a tease. He took in a deep breath and wiggled his hips a little, impatient and wanting.

Growling, Geralt nipped at his jaw as he started to push in, tortuously slow, hands on his hips to still him. Jaskier wanted so badly. Not just this, never just this, but every part of Geralt, the good and the bad, and _especially_ the bad. He wanted Geralt to know those parts of him were worth loving as well. That _he_ was worth loving, entirely and fully.

Jaskier was sure, later, they’d both be embarrassed of how long they managed to last but he would have no problem blaming Geralt for it, as he had the audacity to lean in and whisper, “I love you,” in his ear, pressed all the way inside him, hands squeezing his sides. Jaskier deserved some leeway for the tears that suddenly poured from his eyes.

“Shh,” Geralt shushed as he slid his arms under and around him, holding him close. Jaskier held him back, face buried in the crook of his neck as the tears poured like waterfalls. If it was any other person, under any other circumstances, he probably would’ve been embarrassed, but this was _Geralt_ and he finally had him and he didn’t _care_. Geralt’s hand was in his hair, gentle and soothing, as he slowly began to move again, “I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let out a sob when he spilled between them, and saw pure white when Geralt followed soon after.

*

“Come on,” Geralt’s voice was soft with amusement. Jaskier opened his eyes for what he realized was the first time in over an hour. Squinting, he listened obediently when Geralt told him to roll over. A wet rag swiped across his stomach.

Jaskier smiled a little, chest bursting. “You were holding out on me,” he teased. Geralt raised an eyebrow as he joined him on the bed again, having obviously cleaned himself at some point.

“How so?” he asked.

Jaskier grinned. “You aren’t an animal in bed.”

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it, tilted his head a bit, like he always did when he was confused. It was a habit Jaskier was afraid to point out, lest he try to stop it. “Is that,” he narrowed his eyes a little, “a bad thing?”

“Unexpected,” he admitted, reaching for one of his hands, holding it for no reason other than he _could_ and wanted to, “but good. Very good.”

Jaskier was pretty sure any sex with Geralt would’ve been amazing, but still.

“Oh.” Geralt didn’t blush, he had told Jaskier that early on, something about the mutations, but it was still easy to tell when he was embarrassed, like now. Clearing his throat, he lightly squeezed Jaskier’s hand and he let go. “I should get us something for breakfast.”

Jaskier had almost forgotten it was morning. If he could have it his way, he would stay in bed for the rest of the day, exhausted already, but he knew Geralt grew restless very easily. Nodding, he sat up and brought Geralt’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, mostly because he knew Geralt’s nose would scrunch and he’d yank it away.

Not because he didn’t _like_ it, Jaskier knew, but because he knew he was embarrassed. It was funny, how Geralt had been able to be so free with his adoration earlier but now he seemed to be struggling again, jaw clenched as he peered at Jaskier.

It was funny, and just made Jaskier love him more.

“Go on,” he said, smiling slightly. “I’ll call for a bath.”

Geralt seemed to hesitate briefly before nodding and climbing off the bed. Jaskier watched as he dressed, feeling overwhelmed because he was _allowed_ to. Didn’t have to avert his eyes or worse feel guilty for sneaking a peek.

Jaskier startled when Geralt walked back to the bed and leaned over, brazenly kissing the top of his head without a word or moment of hesitation. When he pulled back, Jaskier blinked up at him, speechless and warm. Still silent, Geralt gently ruffled his hair before turning to leave.

He watched, wide-eyed, as he left. It was only once he was gone that Jaskier felt like he could breathe again. With a sigh, he fell back and grinned up at the ceiling.

Geralt was an enigma, he decided, and he was excited to explore every part of him.


End file.
